


if this is love, i know it's true

by neopunch (caihongs)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Football | Soccer Player Lee Jeno, Football | Soccer Player Mark Lee (NCT), Friends to Lovers, M/M, but there is also, not sure why those are tags but i appreciate them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caihongs/pseuds/neopunch
Summary: Alas, he is imbedded in every corner of Jeno’s universe whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not. It’s the permanency and the density of Mark’s existence, ignorant of whether he’s physically beside him or not, that has Jeno’s defenses growing weak. It has him aching to hold onto him when the elder places his hand right by the side of the gear stick.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee
Comments: 20
Kudos: 124
Collections: nono birthday bash





	if this is love, i know it's true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crimsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsun/gifts).



> for noa <3 but first:  
> 1\. i am so so sorry for the angst. i know you didn't want anything sad but sad happened D:  
> 2\. however do not fear! it's a happy ending because it's what our baby jeno deserves  
> 3\. it's big. like 7k+ big but i hope you enjoy it nevertheless! 
> 
> happy birthday to the bestest boy!  
> title taken from 'forrest gump' by frank ocean

When the whistle sounds and his cleats sink into the wet grass, Jeno Lee is an unstoppable force. With eyes that can trace paths in the dark, he can already see it. Dirt has landed halfway up his thighs and the goal is in sight, but he doesn’t drive the ball towards it. Instead, he passes to Jaemin in the corner, who heads it to Yukhei and the ball slams into the back of the net easily. They win 3-2 and it feels _fucking_ _great_.

Yukhei screeches as he sprints down the field and Jeno takes the opportunity to jump on his back, squeezing his shoulders while the six-foot striker skips to the sidelines and scans the bleachers. Winking at his boyfriend when he spots him, Dejun hides his flushed face behind the glittery cardboard sign in his hands that reads ‘YUKHEI WONG YOU’RE A KEEPER <3’. Jeno bites back his snort and Yukhei giggles hysterically, waving furiously back.

  
  


“He really hasn’t been bothered to make a new sign since we were in high school.” Jeno jumps off the player’s back and as Yukhei gets trampled by the rest of the team, he grins at Jeno.

  
  


“Yeah, but it’s still cute.” Jeno can’t argue with that. Dejun attending every single one of his soulmate’s games since freshman year detracts from the fact that Yukhei has never played goalkeeper, and that Dejun most definitely took the first soccer pun he saw on Google and ran with it. He rounds up the rest of the boys so they can shake hands with the opposing team and call it a day. It’s a good win, one that makes his blood hum in his veins as he watches the players, _his_ players waltz into the locker room with a flag of victory laden across their backs, evident in their gaits and the way they smile and nod at him.

  
  


“Good job today cap.” Jaemin wraps his arms around Jeno’s waist, his damp, grass-stained jersey damp infusing with Jeno’s own soiled one as he presses himself even closer.

  
  


“Jaemin, your Axe body spray is suffocating.” Jeno groans, struggling to get out his best friend’s sticky grasp as the pink-haired sophomore snuggles into the junction of his shoulder and neck, resulting in a drunken stumble to their lockers.

  
  


“Please, you _know_ I used a can per match back in the day.” Jaemin peels himself off the captain to open his locker and Jeno sits beside him to stretch out his hamstrings.

  
  


“You definitely asphyxiated Hyunjin at semi-finals last year.”

  
  


“He choked on his water!” Jaemin is back to scowling at him, giving him a stink eye before shucking off his jersey and slipping on a clean tee. Jeno blows a raspberry at him before changing into his own sweats.

  
  


“You know, Mark was up there too, with Dejun.” Jaemin lowers his voice to just above an inaudible volume and Jeno tries his best not to let his face speak for him.

  
  


“I didn’t see him.” 

  
  


“Well, he was there. Brooding like an emo motherfucker while Dejun was screaming his heart out.” 

  
  


What does Jeno do with that information? Keep it tucked in the back of his ribcage, for it to cannonball out of his chest when most inconvenient? 

  
  


“They’re waiting outside, are you tagging for dinner?” It’s now only him and Jaemin in the locker room. They aren’t always the slowest to get changed but the rest of the boys had dispersed quickly, giving Jeno half-hugs and waves before they left, ready to celebrate within themselves. The coach had complimented their play today and Jeno concurred, because although they were a relatively strong team in the collegiate league, that didn’t make them invincible. Their opposition today had smashed them last season so they had trained their asses off to make up for it and it showed. 

  
  


Jeno still can’t bring his mind away from the fact that Mark was there watching him. 

  
  


“Um, I don’t have a ride.” Jeno says dumbly, knowing fully well that Jaemin drove today and Jaemin hits him over the head with his towel.

  
  


“Get your bag and let’s head out, idiot.” 

  
  


Does Jeno want to see Mark? Not really. But Yukhei was terrific today and Mark is Dejun’s best friend. He’s also a soccer player for the college twenty minutes away from theirs. He was also Jeno’s best friend at one point in time. But that’s neither here nor there because they’re not anymore and that’s no one’s fault but Jeno’s. 

Jaemin locks up and Jeno shivers when the cold air singes his skin.

  
  


“Why didn’t you bring a jumper?! Here.” Jaemin shoves his university crewneck at Jeno and Jeno pushes it back. 

  
  


“It’s fine, we’ll be in the car soon, I’m sure you’ve got something else in the Camry.” The wind is harsh and bites at his arms and Jeno immediately regrets refusing Jaemin’s offer when he realises that the car is at the furthest end of the parking lot. However at this point, nothing can protect Jeno when he spots three figures standing by the street lamp. Mark sticks out like a sore thumb, leaning against the lamp with shadows obscuring his face. Jeno can just make out his wet curls peeking from under his hood, and the reflection of his glasses. That’s the most Jeno’s seen of him in months. 

  
  


“Over here!” Yukhei yells and Jaemin runs, his Adidas slides slapping against the pavement as Dejun catches him in a hug.

  
  


“Dej! How’ve you been?” Jaemin swings the boy around in his arms and Dejun wheezes out a “Great!”, words muffled by his scarf and the lack of oxygen reaching his lungs. 

  
  


“Hey Dej.” Jeno tries his best not to chatter his teeth and Dejun taps lightly at Jaemin to let go.

  
  


“Jeno! You were great out there today.” Dejun beams at Jeno and Jeno can’t help but grin back. It’s impossible not to. 

  
“Nah, the star of the show was your boy.” The blonde blushes deeply at that and Yukhei takes it as an opportunity to scoop him up in a hug, nuzzling his nose into Dejun’s neck. It’s cute, considering how long the two have been together for, that Dejun still reacts so viscerally to all of Yukhei’s actions, even at the sound of someone referring to the boy as his. They’d been conjoined at the hip since middle school, two googly-eyed teens who shared hushed whispers in a foreign dialect, unbridled laughter, and more than just a friendship. When Yukhei had announced on the first day of high school that he was “gonna husband Dejun up” even if they weren’t confirmed soulmates, he was met with no backlash from their group, which wouldn’t have stopped him anyway, and the two were dating by the afternoon. It wasn’t that Yukhei was fighting against a tide of traditionalists, but straying from the norm would always gain one hushed whispers of their own. 

Yet as the Powers That Be would have it, when Yukhei had slung his hand around Dejun’s shoulder on the latter’s sixteenth and a dull blue mark curled itself around Dejun’s arm, taking shape of a carnation, it was affirmed. Funnier yet, Yukhei hadn’t realised but when Dejun had slapped his ass on his birthday way back in January, a poppy had formed right on the swell of his backside. 

It’s a story the two tell time and time again to break the ice and Jeno knows it off by heart. Dejun gives him another smile, a lukewarm one as his eyebrows angle in the direction of Jeno’s right.

  
  


“Hey Jeno.” Mark steps out of the shadows like it’s his villain’s entry scene, but he’s not plastered in tight latex and concealed by a mask. Instead he’s in the grey hoodie he’s owned since middle school, a puffer on top, his hands shoved in his pockets, and dark, tired eyes trained on Jeno. 

  
  


“Hi Mark.” Jeno offers a small wave, the best he can do while the skin on his arms rises with goosebumps and he slowly freezes to death. He meets his eyes briefly before huddling closer to Jaemin. The white flames in Mark’s eyes flicker. 

  
  


Jaemin gives him a long, hard glance before they shuffle in a unit towards Jaemin’s car, Yukhei, Dejun, and Mark following suit to Dejun’s adjacent sedan. 

  
  


“Oh shit, I forgot about Kun’s keyboard in the back.” Dejun says in a short breath, spying the instrument wrapped up in a canvas bag along with bubble wrap and God knows what else the elder had done to protect his cousin’s prized possession draped across the entire back seat.

  
  


So, the elephant in the parking lot. Yukhei is already in the passenger seat, knees pushed up against the dashboard and Dejun at least has the gall to look guilty as Jaemin, Jeno, and Mark stand wordlessly in the middle of the lot. 

  
  


“It’s alright, we’ll meet you two there.” Jaemin says and Dejun utters out a soft sigh of relief while Yukhei, master of not-reading-the-room, whistles loudly to the radio.

  
  


“Okay, we’ll see you in a moment.” Dejun offers Mark an apologetic smile to which Mark can only reciprocate while Jeno stays frozen, quivering in his thin Uniqlo tee. He realises belatedly that he can’t even sit shotgun because Yangyang left his DJ gear in the front seat and Jaemin refuses to touch the stuff with a six-foot-long stick. Not because his soulmate would murder him in cold blood if he did, but because Jaemin doesn’t like running the risk of touching a button and having the expensive machine combust in his hands, which Jeno has iterated is a totally irrational fear but his best friend is resolute in his ways. Resolute as in he refuses to move the bag, despite knowing he’ll be actively instigating the stifling silence in the back seat of his car for the next fifteen minutes and duly ignores Jeno’s silent pleas for help.

The middle seat will still separate them but they’ll be within a foot’s distance of each other. Jeno will be able to see Mark in his periphery, be able to outline the shape of his eyes, nose and lips with striking detail, because even though Jeno can’t see within two inches in front of him, he’s memorised Mark’s face to a debilitating extent. 

Jeno shivers a bit more, and Mark keeps looking at him while Jaemin digs around in his duffel for keys. 

  
  


“Jeno, are you alright?” 

  
  


“Y-yup.” 

  
  


The Oscar for Best Actor goes to literally everyone but Jeno.

Mark slips out of his jacket before Jeno can even begin to defend himself. 

_Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—_

  
  


“Take it Jeno.” His fist is bunched up around the thick jacket and Jeno can see the blunt nails, ideal for guitar-playing, and the nick on his fourth finger from the time they rode their bikes in third grade. For the last three years of his life, Jeno has always wondered what might happen if they touched, if they grazed hands. The day Mark turned sixteen, Jeno was already chipping away at the remains of their friendship, distancing himself. Making it his mission to drive the elder out of his life for their mutual good.

  
  


If Jeno reached further, let his hand brush against Mark’s, would he have a pretty daisy curled around his thumb? Would Jeno have a indigo poppy twisted around his index finger? 

Why Jeno chooses to do this to himself, he has no idea. 

  
  


“It’s alright, but thank you.” 

  
  


Mark looks at him imploringly now, pushing it further towards him as Jaemin finally fishes out his keys from his bag, completely unaware of what’s happening behind him.

  
  


“Jeno, you’re going to get sick.” When Mark speaks to him and looks at him like that, it’s like Jeno is back in third grade. Mark getting Jeno to sit back up against the tree, ignoring the bleeding gash on his hand from lifting the bike off Jeno’s shin. Mark cleaning off his wound with a tissue and holding him up as they walk back to Mark’s house, where Mrs Lee gets to work fixing up Jeno who didn’t see the crack in the pavement and he holds Jeno’s hand the entire time.

Jeno couldn’t refuse even if he tried.

  
  


“Thanks,” Jeno takes it gingerly from Mark and the smell, Jeno discerns immediately as a combination of goat’s milk body wash and the clothes softener from the Korean store, hits him like a wave. It’s warm too, quickly easing the goosebumps on Jeno’s skin, and it sits on his frame like a perfect fit. 

  
  


Mark doesn’t say anything, only stares a bit longer and waves him off. Jaemin stares at the two suspiciously lingering by the boot of the car, surveys Jeno’s now jacketed person, and squints again before all three of them get in. Jaemin’s car is relatively clean considering the fact that his boyfriend is a walking hurricane, but there are still old plastic bottles in the cup holders, movie tickets folded in crevices, Walmart receipts on the carpeted floor, and stuck in the pocket of the passenger seat, peeks out a black and white photo booth strip. Jeno pulls it out and realises that it’s the picture of them at the shopping mall in their hometown. Jaemin, Jeno, Mark squeezed in the left corner, Renjun and Donghyuck, two friends they met at maths coaching in elementary taking the centre, and Chenle, the intelligent, cheeky seventh grader they scooped up on their first week on school squished up under Renjun, along with Jisung, another seventh grader whom Jeno found at the school’s Overwatch club and made a friend of immediately, on the right. 

Renjun and Jaemin had pulled the ugliest faces while the rest of them smiled genially, and Jeno’s head rested just above Mark’s shoulder, the two of them crammed into the edge of the four feet wide booth. 

  
  


_“What the hell you guys! I thought we were doing funny faces!” Renjun yells and Jisung cracks up on the floor. Renjun’s face is blasted three times the size of everyone else’s and Jaemin, although in the corner, still sports an impressive double chin. Chenle and Donghyuck burst into peals of laughter as Jaemin grins and squeezes the back of Renjun’s neck._

  
  


_“I think we look cute Renjunnie!” The single strip stays gripped tight in between the white tips of Renjun’s fingers as he glares at Donghyuck and Chenle, Jisung still cackling on his knees, and finally, at a sheepish Mark and Jeno._

  
  


_“Traitors, all of you. You can keep it Jaemin,” Renjun shoves the strip in Jaemin’s face and Donghyuck runs to give Renjun a bear hug._

  
  


_“But baby, you do look cute!” Donghyuck presses a wet kiss onto the side of Renjun’s neck and Renjun riots, chasing after the younger while Jisung and Chenle whip out their phones to record the whole thing. Jaemin tails after the two, wanting to show the photo strip in the video, and the echo of their trainers squeaking against the floor permeates the mall._

  
  


_Mark laughs and Jeno soaks in the sound. His hair is in a right mess after Donghyuck stuck his hands in them to tie his bangs up apple-style, and his eyes glimmer when he slides his hand into Jeno’s._

  
  


_“Let’s go Jen!”_

  
  


_And Jeno follows Mark because that’s the only thing he knows he wants to do for a long, long time._

  
  


Jaemin jams the key into the ignition and the Camry rumbles to life, taking its time to start up with the cold settling into its engine. Jeno refrains from nestling into the jacket while Jaemin gets the heater on and the owner of the jacket sits merely inches beside him.

As if the Fates decided to make Jeno’s night just that much more uncomfortable, Jaemin plugs the AUX cord into his phone, and of course, of all the playlists Jaemin has downloaded on Spotify, it’s Jeno’s ‘summer ‘16’ playlist aka Jeno’s ‘First Summer Without Mark Lee’ playlist and Frank Ocean begins to pump out of the speakers. 

Mark’s eyebrows fly up at the sound of Solo and Jeno tries to swallow back his gasp. It’s futile because even when Jaemin scrambles to change the song, the entire playlist is an audio-painting of Mark Lee, so Justin Bieber starts to play and Jeno might just _die_. 

Jaemin doesn’t even spare Jeno an apologetic side-glance because his eyes are on the road for the rest of the trip, and now Daniel Caesar sings softly in the background.

  
  


“Congrats on your game last week _hyung_ ,” Jaemin says. Jeno forgets that Jaemin still uses the honorific with Mark, a habit that stuck since they were kids even though they were all housed in the same grade.

  
  


“Oh thanks Jaem! I didn’t know you watched it.” Mark sits up and grins, reaching over to put his palms on the shoulders of the driver’s seat. He illuminates like a match struck in the dead of the night when Jaemin grins back and takes one hand off the wheel to squeeze Mark’s hand behind him. The moles on his cheek catch the light of the moon and Jeno’s eyes trail down the side of Mark’s neck, where two others lie in a straight line.

A constellation picked straight out of the sky, he glitters brighter than ever when he smiles. 

  
  


“Of course Markie! When we saw you score in the second half, I threw my phone across the room.” Mark flushes and his fingers curl into small fists as Jaemin smiles at him through the rearview mirror. Jeno suffers at the sight.

  
  


He wants to hold his tiny hands in his own. He really, really does.

  
  


“ _Eh, you’re_ _overreacting_ ,” Mark murmurs back in Korean.

  
  


“No, he really did.” Jeno’s throat is scratchy with silence and subconsciously brings himself closer to the foggy window when Mark turns to face him.

  
  


He’d been watching with Jaemin, squashed up on their couch and curled over Jaemin’s phone as Mark scored the equaliser in the second half, wearing that stunning smile of his until Kunhang got another in the last minute and they won. Victory looked so sweet on him.

  
  


“He’s right, there’s a spiderweb crack right across my screen, but dude, _totally_ worth it. God, the way you drove the ball around— who was it? Number 17? Anyways, fucking amazing—” 

  
  


Mark is staring at Jeno like he’s a dream. If he diverts his gaze, Jeno might just vanish. 

  
  


“Yeah, number 17, Minhyuk Park.” Mark says softly, and Jeno can’t for the life of him, tear his own eyes away. 

  
  


Jeno wants to see a daisy stretched across his shoulders. The stem pencilled into his collarbones and deepening across the expanse of his back. Jeno wants in a way that has him at a loss for words. Jeno shouldn’t be wishing for the one person he drove out of his life to be his soulmate. He shouldn’t be wishing that on someone like Mark. 

  
  


“Okay we’re here, I think Yukhei and Dejun got a table already— guys?” Jaemin stares at the two of them in the rearview, eyes darting back at forth between Jeno and Mark before Jeno snaps out of it and gathers himself.

  
  


“Right behind you.”

  
  


Jaemin gives them both wary onceovers when they all step out of the car before he cocks his head and turns back around. Jeno knows he’ll have words for him when they get back home.

Before they enter, there’s a tug at the end of his jacket sleeve pulling him aside.

  
  


“Jeno,” Mark exhales out like he’s been holding his name in his throat for eternity.

  
  


“Mark—” Jeno chokes out, and Mark doesn’t hold his hands even though he’s so close to doing so, partly out of fear and out of respect. There’s a sanctity to touch when one is without a soulmate, but it goes beyond that for them.

  
  


“We’ll talk after, okay?” His words are comforting enough in lieu of his hands in Jeno’s.

  
  


“Okay,” he breathes out and Mark gives him a smile, one that has Jeno thinking and hoping he can un-write his errors.

  
  


They meet the rest of them in the booth in the far corner of the diner, and their dinner is a lovely affair. Jaemin shares with them exactly how Yangyang ended up falling down the stairs for a Tiktok, Dejun gushes about his cousin Ten’s new baby, Yukhei presents an abridged version of his research project with animated gestures, and Mark gives them a play-by-play of last week’s game. Jeno stays relatively quiet, providing reactions and surprised noises when necessary and nobody questions it. Jaemin doesn’t spare him any more looks throughout the two hours that they’re there and Jeno is grateful for it.

  
  


“Oh Jaemin! Yang told me that he’d be coming over tonight, he needs to borrow my desktop because his laptop broke?” Yukhei inflects at the end and Jaemin furrows his brows before his memory kicks in as they stack their empty plates on the table.

  
  


“Yeah, the idiot spilt Coke all over his laptop the other day and he needs some program for his assignment, which you have, I’m assuming?” Yukhei nods as he pays the bill and Dejun has a strange look cast over his face before he clears his throat.

  
  


“Why don’t you come over Jaem? We can finally binge _that show_ you wanted to watch!” Dejun’s eyes grow in size directly proportional to the confusion manifesting on Jaemin’s face before it clicks. 

  
  


“Right! Yeah, I can totally come over.” Jaemin gives Jeno another one of those hard glances that signify a million things at once, but they’ve become telepathic at this point. “Jen, you can drop Mark off right?” 

  
  


Jaemin tosses his keys at Jeno before he can muster out a ‘yes’ and the three of them flounder off to Dejun’s grey Honda civic. Dejun also has the _brilliant_ idea to put Kun’s keyboard at the back, stuffing the trunk with all the soft toys in the car that Yukhei won for him for extra cushioning, as if Mark and Jeno aren’t right there watching him. 

Mark is still smiling though, watching as Jaemin hops into the backseat and slams his head on the roof, Yukhei promptly pointing and laughing at him, and Dejun alarmed at how Jaemin managed to injure himself in the two seconds he took his eyes away. Then he looks back at Jeno and smiles with his teeth, his whiskers on full display and Jeno’s cheeks rise instinctively.

  
  


“Wanna drive to the field?” 

  
  


“Sure.” And Mark, with the bravery of a thousand soldiers, moves Yangyang’s DJ kit to the back seat as he swings into the passenger seat.

  
  


Jeno starts the engine and only with slight hesitation, grabs the AUX cord and selects his ‘wind down’ playlist. An indistinct lofi track seeps out of the speakers and the night harmonises with it when Jeno rolls down the windows.

  
  


“How’ve you been Jen?” The use of the nickname bubbles something warm in his chest, and all the resignation he had previously, the string that leashed him away from really looking at Mark in the eyes, from seeing the boy he’s probably been in love with since he was thirteen in his entirety, begins to dissolve. 

  
  


“Good, just training and not letting uni kick me in the ass.” There’s something soothing about taking the drive to the grass field where he spent freshman year doing drills and running laps until Jaemin begged him to stop, built up his stamina, skill, and perseverance that would eventually build him up to captain, and reminisced summer nights doing 1v1 drills with Mark until their lungs were screaming for reprieve. 

  
  


Alas, he is imbedded in every corner of Jeno’s universe whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not. It’s the permanency and the density of Mark’s existence, ignorant of whether he’s physically beside him or not, that has Jeno’s defenses growing weak. It has him aching to hold onto him when the elder places his hand right by the side of the gear stick.

  
  


“Are you still volunteering? I heard that the shelter had a huge donation drive a few months back.” They turn into the carpark and they’re the only ones there.

  
  


“Yeah, it’s a no-kill shelter but the facility never has enough to take care of all of the animals, so we had the drive and received so many supplies, it was amazing.” Jeno gets particularly passionate talking about volunteering and he’s completely unaware with how loud he’s gotten until the trees echo his voice back to him. 

  
  


“Sorry, got a bit excited.” Jeno ducks his head and Mark lets out a full-bodied laugh, so characteristic to him and a sound Jeno wants to swallow just for keeps. He hides his smile in his sleeve as he wrests open the metal gate.

  
  


“Don’t apologise, I know how much you adore working there.” Mark says once his laughter dies down and Jeno now remembers that the elder was there with him when he submitted his application, hoping desperately that he’d be able to help the shelter any sort of way even if it wasn’t a real job. 

  
  


“Enough from me, what about you? How have you been?” Jeno wants to ask about his music, his composition projects, his Soundcloud tracks, if he still writes songs about love, but he lets the questions simmer while he watches Mark sit down in the grass and hum.

  
  


“Same old, same old. Along with soccer, I’m still trying to get more music out and get to know some more vocal students so we can work on stuff together, and so I can get help for the hooks on my tracks.” 

  
  


“I’ve listened to your stuff on Soundcloud. It’s good,” Jeno admits with no hesitance, and Mark looks at him, completely astounded.

  
  


“I didn’t know you knew about those.” Jeno breaks Mark’s gaze to stare at the sky. 

  
  


“I kept up ever since you released Mad City.” 

  
  


“So you heard—”

  
  


There’s a song amongst the many on his page that Mark wrote when they were in ninth grade, titled City 127, along with his cousin Taeyong, who became renowned in their hometown for being the boy that broke his way into Western media as a rising Korean-American artist. ‘For my starlight,’ he had captioned it, and everybody had turned to Jeno with raised eyebrows come summer break when he returned home from vacation in South Korea. They had gone separately, Jeno to visit his grandparents, and Mark to stay with Taeyong, who had gone to find his roots, link up with other artists of his breed and introduce his little cousin to the world of Korean rap and music. They had met for one night in Seoul, Jeno tagging along with his sister when she made her way out from Incheon to visit friends, and Mark out of his Airbnb. They strolled down the Han River with Melona bars in hand and played a brief game of soccer with the kids, speaking their best Korean yet earning odd looks from the ten-year-olds. 

It was a lovely night, and Jeno never forgot the way Mark kept his arm wrapped around him the entire time, the way he blatantly tackled him to the ground for the ball with that charming smile on his face, and the way that smile fell when Jeno had to say goodbye. 

So, everyone knew by then, that something was up between the two. But Jeno, ever the do-good, had decided at fifteen years old, that he wasn’t going to be Mark’s soulmate. Mark, his Mark _hyung_ had worked hard for every single thing he earned in his life at that point. Whether it was pursuing music in the depths of his room while studying furiously for AP Physics at the same time to please his parents, to getting his first job the moment he turned fourteen so he could save up for his first pair of cleats, Jeno had admired his determination and work ethic. But this Mark was passionate and saw the worth in working hard and making an effort for the things you loved, and that had trickled into a hostility for things he had no bearing on. 

For Fate to have intervened with something as fickle yet constant and significant as love, which the elder believed needed to be organic and worked at instead of handed to you on a silver platter, frustrated him. At the time, Jeno was fourteen, terribly naive, and didn’t know what to say when his best friend went on a heated rant about the fallacies that came with a predetermined future. For someone whose parents were soulmates and lucky to have stayed in love since they were sixteen, Jeno was unsure of what he could do to soothe the silent rage that seemed to be wreaking turmoil within his clearly grown up best friend. It was the angst and rebellion that Jeno didn’t know how to quell but desperately wanted to, because for the rest of the time, Mark was sweet, playful, kind, and everything beautiful under the sun. It was only every once in a while that’d he’d get upset over something Jeno had always learnt was a wonderful thing— to have someone destined to be by your side until the end of time— so he was persistent and came up with a solution.

Come August 2015, Jeno wouldn’t let Mark touch him in fear that it would change the course of their relationship for the worst, the relationship that Jeno had come to cherish more than anything else in the entire world. Yet, this meant that he was actively picking apart the threads that held them together all this time, the threads that kept them as sturdy and enduring as they were and had become. It was avoiding him on the way to and from school, making sure he gave terse responses at a distance, exercising every caution to ensure they would never encounter the possibility to confirm what Jeno was hopelessly wishing was the truth. Yet the truth of the matter was that, as Yangyang and Jaemin knocked heads during practice on August 13th the next year and a cobalt marigold sprouted along Jaemin’s hairline, and Renjun had a rose stitched on the inside of his ankle from Donghyuck tripping over his leg on March 23rd, Jeno knew he belonged with Mark Lee. 

With Jeno’s learned determination, he had already successfully broken up with his best friend by the end of freshman year. Yet, here they were. As they say, so close yet so far away. 

  
  


“Whiplash?” Jeno garners up the strength to tease.

  
  


“Don’t even— I _meant_ City 127.” Mark splutters, mortification colouring his cheeks.

  
  


“Yeah, I did.”

  
  


“What did you think?”

  
  


“I liked it.”

  
  


“Nothing else?”

  
  


“Mark, there’s nothing else I can say that’ll make you change your mind,” Jeno starts shakily, because surely, he must still believe in that truth.

  
  


“Change my mind about what? The fact that I love you?” 

  
  


Jeno blinks. Stares at the moon some more and with trembling fingers clutching at the cuffs of Mark’s jacket, turns around.

  
  


“Mark, please—”

  
  


Mark leans ever closer.

  
  


“Jeno, I spent the last years of high school wondering what the fuck I did to have my best friend push himself away from me so suddenly, and so unwilling to explain why, but when I realised that our friends had flowers encrusted on their bodies and you spent your birthday without us, that it was my own goddamn fault.”

  
  


Glassy-eyed, Mark digs his hand into the grass inches away from Jeno’s.

  
  


“But what you’re saying—what you said, isn’t it still true? Wasn’t love supposed to be found, not shoved down your throat?” Jeno is finding it hard to breathe in such close proximity.

  
  


“Jeno I— I was wrong. I found it in _you_ before we even knew what soulmates really meant. When we started college and were apart for so long, I knew that behind the marks and the symbolism of it all, I was sure love was always going to be in you, in every life, universe, and on every iteration of this Earth that would ever exist.”

  
  


Maybe he’s crying, maybe it’s starting to snow on the East Coast, maybe Jeno is now finally able to look at Mark and love him freely like he’s always wanted to.

  
  


“Jeno, can— can you look at me? Please?” Mark is so close now, and Jeno can see the white-hot flames dim to embers.

  
  


“Tell me you’re not lying.” 

  
  


“Jeno, you know I’m a terrible liar.” The elder has the gall to joke while his eyes well up and Jeno wants to hit him for it.

  
  


“Can we— can I?” Mark asks quietly, asks for permission to touch and Jeno doesn’t answer.

  
  


He pulls Mark into his embrace and throws his arms around his neck. Mark wraps his around Jeno’s waist and hooks his chin onto his shoulder, exhaling a broken breath as he strokes the back of Jeno’s head gently. They sit in the grass, holding each other as the starlight, straight out of Mark’s battered lyric book, glistens over them, and a tingling sensation digs at the side of Jeno’s torso. 

  
  


“Do you feel it?” Jeno whispers. 

  
  


“It feels like a needle poking at my neck.” Mark responds and Jeno lifts up his fingers slowly to uncover the beginnings of a stem unfurling on Mark’s nape. A blue daisy unfolds its petals by the base of his ear lobe and Jeno lets out a tiny gasp.

  
  


“What’s wrong? Is it bleeding?” Mark panics, pulling away from Jeno to feel for the sting on his neck.

  
  


“No, it’s just really pretty.” Jeno utters and Mark huffs.

  
  


“You scared me, holy shit, it really feels like a tattoo.” Jeno grins at the sight of Mark massaging the spot, before he pulls up the edge of his own shirt and sees a purple poppy sewn up on the side of his body, just below his ribcage.

  
  


“You’re right, it is.” Mark bends down to get a closer look and Jeno flinches when Mark breathes out.

  
  


“I’m ticklish,” he says in between giggles when Mark shoots up with another panicked look on his face. 

  
  


“My bad,” Mark says insincerely as he creeps his hand closer to Jeno and Jeno leaps up.

  
  


“Mark!” 

  
  


And it’s like they’re in third grade again, hot on each other’s tails as Mark plants his feet in the grass, ready to chase after him. Jeno escapes by a hair’s length as he catches Mark’s hands just as they’re about to pinch him in the sides and effectively immobilises him. 

  
  


“You gotta work on that speed of yours Markie.” Jeno gravitates closer to him, his _soulmate_ , and lets himself stare at his lips.

  
  


Mark’s eyes flitter for a moment before he closes the distance. It’s not unlike Jeno’s late-night fantasies, but it’s so much more. Mark is gentle and so, so warm. His fingers cling at the sleeves of Jeno’s jacket before they inch towards the sides of his face and hold him still, Mark’s fingertips pressing into his hair. When they part, Jeno is still breathing hotly on Mark’s cupid bow, fighting the urge to kiss him again. He settles with cupping the sides of Mark’s face, pinky grazing the floral disc of the daisy.

  
  


“Mark Lee, can I wake you up with whiplash for the rest of our lives?” Mark’s eyes grow comically wide in size and Jeno grins as the elder squirms in his hands.

  
  


“You’re a menace Jeno Lee.” Mark puts his palms on top of Jeno’s, slotting his fingers in between Jeno’s own and frowns deeply, but Jeno doesn’t let that falter him and leans forward.

  
  


“Well?”

  
  


“Yes Jeno, I’m all yours.” And Jeno smiles again, closes his eyes for second as the weight in his chest erodes itself to a dust. Mark rolls his eyes and kisses him again. 

  
  


Both of them laugh into the kisses thereafter, unable to keep their hands off each other. Mark has his arms around Jeno in some way or another, and Jeno ends up pulling himself flush to Mark’s chest to pepper his face with more kisses against the gate of the field.

  
  


“You’re greedy,” Mark grouses in between the pecks and Jeno pouts.

  
  


“Let me have this Markie.” _Let me have what I lost_. When Mark sighs in what sounds to Jeno, a lot like defeat, he takes what he can get before the guard can catch them making out against the chain-link fence.

  
  


And yes, Jeno finally takes Mark’s hand away from the gear stick and into his own. 

  
  


It’s almost laughable how miserable the two had been without each other. They realise what they had truly missed over tears and cups of tea, but when Jeno vows himself to Mark in repent, Mark refuses to take it.

  
  


“Don’t make me this promise Jeno.” What Mark doesn’t say as he rubs circles into Jeno’s hands, Jeno knows. He knows that Mark will spend the rest of their life together making up for his flaws and mistakes. He knows Mark never wants to hold Jeno’s words against him when they inevitably fight and resort to picking at old scars when it gets hard to see through the mist. They both hurt themselves and each other in the years they were apart but Jeno knows and understands what Mark wants and that’s a new beginning. He wants that too.

  
  


“Okay,” Jeno whispers and Mark smiles. He takes his hands from Mark to wipe away the tears on his lover’s face.

  
  


“We’ll be okay.” The white flames spark and burn when Mark kisses him again. It’s so warm.

  
  


When Jaemin gets home to see Mark and Jeno curled up on the couch, Jeno’s pajama shirt rucked up to expose his stomach and Mark being little spoon, sleeping on his side where the flower can be seen by his ear, he doesn’t say a word, only snapping a photo before he starts on breakfast for the three of them. 

  
  


If you asked Jaemin how difficult it was to watch his two best friends fall apart, he would say it was indescribable. No metaphor nor analogy could really sum up Jeno and Mark’s last years of high school in the eyes of their best friends. Donghyuck and Renjun were something of a salve while the two wallowed in their self-induced suffering, both possessing a particular skill in providing warmth and strength to both of them in varying ways. Jaemin himself tried his best with emotional support, lending an attentive ear when either needed him to be there. Yukhei and Dejun provided care without being asked, taking the sad suckers out to movies and dinners, and Yukhei would kick a ball around with Jeno while Dejun and Mark messed around with chords in the music rooms. Both Chenle and Jisung were caught up in their individual eighth-grade crises, but their occasional presence nevertheless provided a semblance of peace that was very much needed. Yangyang had skill in his own right, distracting the two with his boundless energy and endearing self. Though the latter’s role may be permeated by Jaemin’s own bias, they all did what they could to improve both Jeno and Mark’s demeanour without tampering with something they didn’t fully understand. 

But when Jaemin watches the two wake up slowly, probably to the smell of butter, he catches Jeno feeling for the raised skin where the flower lies on Mark’s neck, and Mark letting out a groan when the sunlight shoots into his face and smiling when he turns to see Jeno, he thinks it all fell into place in the end.

  
  
  


“We’re going to smash you guys tomorrow night.” Jeno announces triumphantly as if he’s already tasted the chalice of victory, while Mark sits cross legged on the couch with his laptop on his lap, headphones over his ears, and glasses at the bridge of his nose. He stares at Jeno, unimpressed.

  
  


“Alright.” Is all he says as he gets back to clicking away at FL Studio and Jeno, pushing his own glasses up, puts his hands on his hips.

  
  


“You have nothing to say about your inevitable loss?” Mark rolls his eyes before taking a sip of water and tapping away again. 

  
  


It’s late and Jeno’s more concerned over the fact that Mark isn’t going to bed soon than him not entertaining his bit.

  
  


“Mark, you have morning classes.” Jeno sidles up next to him on the couch and caresses the back of his neck out of habit. Mark sighs, saving his files before closing the laptop lid.

  
  


“Better?” Jeno frowns and slides off the headphones, along with the glasses. Mark smiles resignedly at the gestures and puts his laptop down on the coffee table to envelop his soulmate in a hug. 

  
  


“You know, I lose more sleep thinking about you than my degree.” Mark slips his hand under Jeno’s tank to squeeze the left side of his waist, tracing the shape of the poppy with his tip of his index finger. Jeno’s become more immune to it over time but it still gets him jerking forward in surprise. 

  
  


“Gross,” he wheezes out and Mark cackles loudly.

  
  


“I’m going to keep doing this to you until we’re seconds from rolling into the grave, you know that right.” 

  
  


Jeno blows out of his cheeks and wrestles his boyfriend’s hands out from around him.

  
  


“ _You’re_ the menace Mark Lee.” And Mark has nothing but a pretty smile for him when he says that.

  
  


Does Jeno’s team smash Mark’s in the game the next night? Marginally, but yes, he does. Does Jeno cry when Mark gets them tickets for his favourite team’s match in the Champions League? Definitely. Does City 127 become Jeno’s ringtone? Yes, but his phone is on silent when Mark’s around. 

When April 23rd comes around and Mark releases a song on his Soundcloud unbeknownst to his lover, titled ‘Daisy’, does Jeno sob? Jaemin has video footage. 

  
  


It’s not easy, because even having someone made to be yours for eternity doesn’t make love easier. Jeno wakes up to Mark every single day and he’s blessed to have him in his arms, but sometimes, he wonders if Mark doesn’t tell him everything. Keeps things tucked away in that head of his only to manifest in ugly ways that he doesn’t show Jeno. That maybe even after all this, Mark still doesn’t believe in soulmates. It takes time to destroy monsters like that, and Jeno has grown to appreciate said time in all of its abstract nature. It’s the currency that only increases in value and only offers gifts to Jeno. It allows him to take in his lover in all his beauty, those beauty marks and high cheekbones and big, swirling eyes. It allows him to grow out of his past skins, to grow out of his college dorm and into a one-bedroom high-rise. Out of battered soccer boots and into new ones and out of jerseys and into tailored suits. Time gives Jeno her best eyes and tells him to, even though it pains him to say it, love and live. 

  
  
  


“Is there something on my face?” 

  
  


It’s just past six, their curtains are coloured violet by twilight hour and Jeno has been awake for at least fifteen minutes now, just blinking blearily at Mark’s sleeping face. It’s their free day today and he desperately wants to stay in but they need to buy new pots and pans. 

Mark blinks, rubs the sleep out of his eyes before he pulls Jeno by the sleeves of his shirt and presses him right up against his chest.

  
  


“You’re pretty when you’re asleep,” Jeno murmurs into Mark’s collarbone and Mark snorts.

  
  


“You’re too sweet on me Jen, I really might just keep you.” Jeno takes the liberty of feigning a gag into Mark’s chest and the elder giggles, letting go of Jeno only to slide his arm under his head and drape his other hand over the curve of his hip. 

  
  


“You’re stuck with me forever, old man.” The skies are always so gorgeous before sunrise. The light fans over Mark’s face in strips of burnt oranges and purples and Jeno feels for the daisy by Mark’s ear. It’s still there as it always will be, but Jeno fumbles for it anyway. 

  
  


“Well my darling Jeno, my gorgeous, platinum blonde 1950s househusband, I’m not too disappointed to hear that.” Jeno snickers, briefly entertaining the thought of baking pies, squeezing lemonade, and rearing children before he pecks Mark on the nose. He makes a move to leave but Mark grabs onto his wrist just as he gets his slippers on.

  
  


“Come back, it’s too early.”

  
  


And what can Jeno do but follow Mark, for a long, long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: soulmate au! in which there's a mark on your skin wherever your soulmate first touches u  
> post-reveal: IT’S ME, your girl, oaf *throws up finger guns* it was a pleasure to write for you noa! your prompts gave me lots of space to roam creatively + chuck in sportsboy markno ^^
> 
> big thanks 2  
> 1\. my beta shav you’re a real one for letting me freak out over this <33  
> 2\. duhui gods! i repeat duhui gods! thank you for holding this fic exchange + dealing with these “ficlets” of ours :D
> 
> you know what time it is- favourite line?
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/renminsungs) \+ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/98mbins)


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